


(Boy)friends

by mrhd



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhd/pseuds/mrhd
Summary: Some friendly teasing turns sexy.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinktober Day 17 prompt: Three/moresome

“Let’s play a game,” Lambert says, grinning, a bottle of white gull in each hand.

“Why do we need a game to drink?” Eskel asks.

“Because I want to watch you two get sloshed while I get to laugh at you.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Who says you’ll be winning?”

“Too chicken to find out?” Lambert asks, still grinning.

“Just tell us what dumb shit you have planned,” Eskel says.

Lambert puts the bottles on the table and slides them each a cup. “One of us says something we’ve done, and if you’ve done it too, you drink.”

“That’s not how you play,” Geralt says before he can think it through.

Both Eskel and Lambert stare at him.

“ _You_ know this game?” Eskel asks.

Geralt shrugs, feeling awkward. “It’s an Oxenfurt game. Jaskier told me about it.”

“Ooooh, your boyfriend taught you?” Lambert teases.

“Fuck off,” Geralt snaps. “You don’t even know how to play it correctly.”

“Well then enlighten us, Oxenfurt lover boy.”

Geralt sighs. “You’re _supposed_ to say something you haven’t done. And if one the other players _has_ they take a drink.”

“Oh. So I would say, ‘I’ve never fucked a poet’ and then you would have to drink, right, Geralt?”

“Jaskier considers himself a bard, foremost,” Geralt says.

“Semantics,” Lambert drawls. “So you guys in? Or you wanna just sit and talk?”

“I need to drink if I’m gonna have to talk to you,” Eskel says.

Lambert, still grinning, fills their cups. “I’ll start,” he says.

Geralt sighs and resigns himself to drinking in the first round.

“I’ve never fucked a bard,” Lambert says with a leer.

Geralt rolls his eyes and swallows his drink. “You could at least try,” he grumbles, putting his glass down with a clink.

“Your turn now,” Lambert sing-songs, refilling Geralt’s glass.

“Fine,” Geralt says. “Never have I ever paid a whore to compliment my beard.”

Eskel guffaws as Lambert drinks. “I was young,” he complains lamely.

“No excuses,” Geralt says.

“Fuck you."

“Stop bitching,” Eskel says. “It’s my turn.”

Half an hour later, or perhaps it is more, or perhaps it is less, Geralt is alarmingly unsure, his tongue has loosened and his brain has slowed.

“Never have I ever left my boyfriend and his nice, warm Oxenfurt appointment to sit in a cold fucking keep all winter,” Lambert says.

There’s a lot Geralt can say to that. What comes out of his mouth is: “Jaskier is not my boyfriend,” Geralt slurs. Because if Jaskier is _his_ boyfriend that must mean that he is _Jaskier’s_ boyfriend, which can’t be right, not at all, because Geralt wouldn’t make a good boyfriend, and Jaskier deserves one. A good boyfriend. Who takes him on dates that don’t involve monsters, and to fine food and not cheap tavern fare and beer. Who can write Jaskier love poetry like the kind he writes and tell him how beautiful he is and how pretty without his tongue getting caught in the sentiment. Who can pamper Jaskier and give him the comfort and life and love he craves, and doesn’t disappear into the mountains once a year.

“Sure,” Lambert says. “He’s just the only person you fuck nowadays.”

Geralt shakes his head. “I bed other people. Sometimes. He beds other people. Lots.”

“Yeah but he _tells_ you about it,” Eskel points out.

Geralt frowns. “He likes to brag.”

“Mmm hmm,” Eskel says. “Sure. But he doesn’t _stay_ with them. He stays with _you_.”

Geralt frowns. Because it’s true, but it’s not what it _means_. “You don’t get it,” he sighs, mind too foggy with drink to make himself clearer.

“Has he told you he loves you?” Eskel asks, leaning in close. Lambert does too, his face shifting from teasing to serious.

Geralt swallows. Jaskier _has_. He’s said it in bed, right before they fall asleep, right after they wake up. He’s said it with Geralt balls deep in his ass, and he’s said it while balls deep in Geralt. He’s said into Geralt’s mouth, his ear, against the skin of his cheek and his chest and his back and his thighs and his knuckles and his hands and of course his cock. Geralt isnt _stupid_. He knows that Jaskier cares about ti. That he stays with Geralt even when it’s wet and cold, when it’s burning hot, when one or both of them gets sprayed with guts. He’s helped Geralt patch up his wounds. He’s shared his coin, his food, his humor. His...love. But. Geralt squirms, as if he can escape his own thoughts. “Jaskier falls in love with everyone he meets,” he says lamely. “He’s said so.” Geralt has seen it in action too, the way Jaskier makes people feel special, important, seen. The way Jaskier makes him feel like he’s worth such things.

“But does he love them like he loves _you_?” Eskel insists. In the low light, with Geralts foggy vision, it looks like his eyes are made of fire.

Geralt swallows again. Jaskier may speak pretty to people, compliment them, kiss their hands or their cheeks, even bed them, but it’s Geralt he follows around the continent. It’s Geralt he wades through muck and gore for when he generally finds such things distasteful. It’s Geralt he always comes back to. “Because we’re _friends_ ,” he tells Eskel.

“ _Boy_ friends,” Lambert says.

“No,” Geralt insists, trying ineffectually to shove at Lambert’s face.

“Friends who bed each other and spend _all_ their time together,” Lambert continues.

“Stop,” Geralt says. “I’m not...he...I don’t know how to be a boyfriend,” he says.

Lambert sighs. “Except for you put up with him, and let him follow you around.”

“We’re friends,” Geralt repeats.

“You think about him,” Eskel says gently. “You miss him when you’re not with him. He makes you smile. I’ve seen you smile more talking about him than I have in the last decade, my friend.”

Geralt feels his face go hot. “That’s not being a boyfriend,” he objects. “That’s...that just means...” That Geralt is weak, that he wants to selfishly keep Jaskier and all his love for himself.

“It means that you love him,” Lambert sings.

Geralt growls at him.

“Shut up, Lambert,” Eskel says. “Don’t tease him. I’m trying to have a breakthrough.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Geralt says. He puts his head down in the table, as though not being able to see either of his brothers means he won’t be able to hear them either.

“You care about Jaskier, yes?” Eskel says, not waiting for an answer. “And he cares about you. Loves you. He’s told you so. You want to spend time together and do things together and not be separated. So, what else does that mean?”

“Not boyfriends,” Geralt grumbles vaguely into the wood of the table.

Lambert sighs dramatically.

Eskel scoffs. “I feel sorry for Jaskier,” he says. “His boyfriend is a real fucking dolt.”

Geralt’s head shoots up, confused. Jaskier doesn’t have a boyfriend, he would have noticed. Like Lambert has pointed out, the spend almost all their time together. How would Eskel know about Jaskier’s boyfriend. He’s never even met Jaskier. Unless...“You’ve Met Jaskier’s boyfriend?” Geralt asks, feeling confused, but maybe Eskel had met the man, and the man had been talking about Jaskier. That makes sense. Geralt talks about Jaskier a lot, and he doesn’t like talking. If he were really Jaskier’s boyfriend, he’d probably talk about it all the time.

“Unfortunately,” Eskel sighs.

Geralt’s head is swimming. And pounding. It doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t Eskel tell him before? Why didn’t _Jaskier_? How long has he been making a fool of himself in front of Jaskier? He hadn’t thought Jaskier could be so mean, to hide this from him, to lead Geralt on like this. His stomach turns and he can’t tell if he’s angry or hurt. “Who is it?” he demands.

Eskel stares at him before bursting into laughter.

Geralt snarls at him, putting his voice into it. “Tell me. Is it Valdo Marx?” he asks, trying to crawl across the bench so he can shove Eskel off it.

“I have no fucking clue who that is,” Eskel says.

“He’s a troubadour,” Geralt says. “He’s Jaskier’s rival. Are they rivals because they want to be boyfriends?”

“Why are you asking me?” Eskel asks between laughs.

“You said you knew him!” Geralt says, close enough now to punch Eskel in the shoulder.

“I meant you, rock troll for brains,” Eskel says, shoving Geralt back.

Geralt loses his balance, thumping back on the bench. “What about me?” he asks the high ceiling.

“ _You’re_ Jaskier’s boyfriend,” Eskel says, still laughing.

“I’m not though. I’d know,” Geralt points out.

“But you are and you don’t.”

“Fine,” Geralt snaps. “Ask Jaskier, he’ll tell you. I’ve not done anything like a boyfriend would.”

Eskel snorts. “Bring him next winter and I’ll ask.”

“No,” Geralt says. 

“So you admit I’m right?”

“No.”

“Have to. Or prove it. Bring Jaskier.”

“Don’t have to.”

“You do. I want to meet him. So do Lambert and Vesemir.”

“No,” Geralt insists, even as Eskel drops the full weight of his head into his stomach.

“Yes,” Eskel returns, not moving when Geralt shoves at his head.

Geralt groans. “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Not as annoying as Lambert.”

“Hey,” Lambert objects from somewhere Geralt can’t see, because he’s not on the ceiling.

“Will you let me meet him?” Eskel asks. “Don’t have to let Lambert.”

“Hey!” Lambert says again.

“Fine,” Geralt agrees. “If you shut up. My head hurts.”

“You had too much Gull,” Eskel says.

“So did you,” Geralt points out.

“Mm,” Eskel agrees easily. “It’s settled then.”

“Yeah, settled,” Geralt murmurs vaguely. He lets one of his hands rest on the back of Eskel’s head. Eskel’s weight on top of him is familiar, and eventually Geralt feels his cock start to swell with the memories. He’s relaxed from the drink, and Eskel’s warmth, and it seems too much to bother fighting against it.

Eskel chuckles lowly. “Mm, thinking about your bard, Geralt? Or me?”

“Been here before,” Geralt says lowly. “Don’t have to bother with it.”

“What if I want to?” Eskel says, shifting so his cheek rubs against the growing bulge in Geralt’s pants. “Would your little bard mind?”

“Only that you called him ‘little’,” Geralt says, his breath coming faster. “He’s not.”

“Bigger than me?” Eskel asks with a grin.

Geralt just grunts. In fact, Jaskier and Eskel are roughly similar in size, at least when they’re both hard. The idea of them both, together, makes him harder.

“Mm, fuck, you always leak so much,” Eskel says, getting Geralt’s cock out of the front of his pants.

“Jaskier likes it too,” Geralt says, smirking.

Eskel pinches the skin of his hip.

“Dammit, are you two gonna fuck right in front if me?” Lambert says from the other side of the table.

Geralt rolls his head to look at him under the table. Lambert’s legs are spread, and his hand is palming his cock over his pants. “You like watching,” he points out.

“Can’t properly see,” Lambert says, his voice deepening. “Gonna have to be loud for me.”

“Well, my mouth is going be a bit busy,” Eskel says, and then he swallows Geralts cock in one smooth move.

Geralt groans and tips his neck back. Eskel swallows around his cock once, twice, before sucking back up to run his tongue around the head.

“Fuck,” Geralt murmurs. Eskel knows exactly what he likes, how to get his blood to run hot and pulse in his ears. Eskel had been the first to ever do this to him, when they were both young and horny and more eager than skilled. Eskel’s had been the first cock he’d had in his mouth too, about one minute after Eskel had taken his. He’d loved it even then, wants it even now, thinks about Eskel’s fat cock on his tongue, the taste of his arousal, the way he likes Geralt to take him deep, swallow around him. Jaskier is different, likes it when Geralt suckles at his head, tongues at his slit. Geralt likes pleasing them both, wishes Jaskier were here now, his cock in Geralt’s mouth while Eskel nuzzles at the base of his cock and sucks his balls.

Geralt groans, trying not to buck his hips. Eskel is strong though, simply pinning him down with his big hands. Geralt moans and lets himself struggle, craving the press of Eskel’s muscles against him, his hands on the tops of Geralt’s hips as he sinks back down in Geralt’s cock. “Ah, fuck, Eskel.”

“Come fast for him,” Lambert says, his breathing harsh. “Faster you come sooner you can have his cock in your mouth. We all know that’s what you really want. Geralt of Rivia, the cock whore.”

Eskel’s next exhale tickles against the skin of Geralt’s groin. He’s laughing, the jerk.

Geralt tugs at his hair in reprimand. “Your dirty talk is shit,” he tells Lambert. He rolls his head to the side again to watch him strip his cock, his gloves still on, brown leather against the flushed red of his cockhead.

“We can’t all be wordsmiths like your poet,” Lambert retorts, squeezing his tip and shuddering.

Geralt groans in spite of himself, knows that his cock is twitching against the roof of Eskel’s mouth. “He’d be happy to teach you,” Geralt pants, thinking about it, thinking abt filth pouring from Jaskier’s mouth as Geralt sucks his cock, lewd praises mixed with sweet nothings. He imagines Lambert too, can see him fucking into Jaskier while Jaskier fucks Geralt’s mouth. The mental image has him gasping.

“Eskel,” he warns.

“Yes, come down his throat, wolf,” Lambert encourages, and Geralt does, with a long deep groan.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Lambert pants, squeezing the base of his cock, drawing it out for himself.

“Eskel,” Geralt says again, tugging him up by the hair.

Eskel lifts his face from where he’d been nuzzling and licking at Geralt’s softening cock and crawls up his body until his straddling Geralt’s chest.

Geralt opens his mouth for him, eyes fixated on Eskel’s cock, deep red and fat and drooling pre-come onto his pants, still pulled up, open only at the crotch.

“Fuck,” Eskel says, running a finger slowly over Geralt’s lips. 

Geralt laps at it, little licks, teasing. 

“You know you’re good at sucking cock,” Eskel says. “Is that why you like it so much?”

Geralt hums non-committally. There’s a great many things hes good at that he doesn’t enjoy, killing people for one, but making the people he cares for feel _good_ is something entirely different.

“Gonna fuck your mouth,” Eskel says, his voice a growl.

Geralt tips his neck so the angle is easier for Eskel, so he can slide into Geralt’s mouth. He slides his hands down the back of Eskel’s loosened pants until he can properly grab his ass, encouraging him toward. Eskel fucks into his mouth slowly, a long slide until he passes into Geralt’s throat.

Geralt moans at the feeling of Eskel’s cock stretching him wide, at the scent of his arousal, strong in the air and stronger in the curls at the base of his cock that Geralt’s nose is buried in. 

Eskel groans too, dropping one hand to cup the back of Geralt’s skull and help support his neck, his other hand sliding through Geralt’s hair, tugging lightly. “Yeah, I know what you like, Geralt,” he says, voice dark and low. “Always like getting that gorgeous hair of yours pulled.” 

He does then, yanking on a handful and Geralt can only moan again. There’s no use denying it, not like this, not when they both know it to be so true. The discovery had shocked them both a bit, when they’d been young. It had delighted Jaskier, when Geralt had been much older.

“Always dreamt about getting my hands in your hair,” Jaskier had gasped, tugging. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Yennefer had already known, somehow, intuition or magic, already smirking the first time she’d scraped her nails over Geralt’s scalp and his legs had turned to jelly.

Eskel starts moving his hips, and Geralt stops thinking. All he can feel is Eskel, Eskel’s big palm on the back of his skull, Eskel’s legs pressed against his chest, the feel of his ass against Geralt’s palms as he grips hard enough to leave bruises. He shuts his eyes and basks in it, in the fuzziness of the alcohol, the richness of Eskel’s scent, his groans and grunts, the taste of him in Geralt’s mouth. It’s good. So much better than Geralt usually feels.

Eskel pulls back when he comes, like Geralt likes. As much as he likes the heat of come splashing down his throat he likes being able to taste it even more.

Geralt opens his eyes, making them focus on Eskel, straddled above him, pants around his thighs, cock and pubes wet with Geralt’s spit.

“Come here,” his says voice softer now even though the tug at Geralts hair is anything but.

Geralt goes, sitting up until Eskel is in his lap and theyre at eye level.

Eskel releases his neck to cup one of Geralt’s cheek and kiss him.

Geralt makes a happy sound into the kiss. If it weren’t Eskel, he’d be embarrassed to have made the noise in front if anyone but Jaskier. He likes kissing. Likes sucking on Eskel’s tongue when he sticks it in his mouth, likes feeling Eskel’s face so close to his. He brings his hands up, settling one on Eskel’s side, the other cupping Eskel’s cheek in return. The scarred one, and Geralt makes sure to be gentle, makes sure not to avoid them or seek them out. He knows what Eskel thinks of them, that they make him feel monstrous in that way Geralt always does. That Eskel had always brought him back from. Geralt wants to do the same in return.

“Well now I definitely feel left out,” Lambert says when they part.

Eskel laughs breathlessly. “If you have oil you could fuck me,” he offers. “I want to keep making out with Geralt.”

Lambert growls a little. “Do _you_ have oil?”

“No,” Eskel says, running his palm down from Geralt’s cheek to his throat.

Geralt tips his head back immediately, baring his throat. Submission. Trust. There’s a thousand different ways Eskel could kill him like this without even leaving Geralts lap. But he won’t.

“Fuck we really need to start planning these orgies in advance,” Lambert says.

Geralt tips his head to the side so he can watch him.

Eskel takes the invitation and bends his own neck down.

The first press of his teeth against Geralt’s artery makes him shiver and his cock jerk against Eskel’s ass.

“Can’t see you,” Geralt tells Lambert, his voice low with arousal and hoarse from Eskel’s fucking.

“Not always about you,” Lambert says, but he shucks his shirt and jacket and climbs onto the table, naked now except for his gloves, lounging as he strokes himself lazily. There’s already come on his stomach, which means he’s working on his second orgasm. Geralt shivers again, glad he hadn’t left after just one.

Lambert locks eyes with him and licks his lips as he strokes his cock, long and slow from root to tip. 

Eskel bites, not hard enough to break skin, not if Geralt hasn’t asked for it, but hard enough to leave a bruise.

Geralt gasps and grabs the back of Eskel’s neck, pulling him closer. “Yes, Eskel,” he pants.

Eskel hums against his throat, worrying the skin between his teeth until Geralt is gasping and bucking his hips. Then he switches to sucking on it, laving at the teeth marks with his tongue before he scrapes his teeth down and bites again.

“More,” Geralt asks, his voice a rumble.

Eskel obliges, leaving a series of brief, brutal nips up onto the underside of Geralt jaw.

Geralt gasps. It’s so, so good, little bright stars of pain, of awareness, of Eskel.

When Eskel dips down again, rubbing the beginning of his facial hair down Geralt’s already bruised neck, Geralt tips his head towards Lambert again, making eye contact.

“Kiss me,” he demands. He wants it, needs something in his mouth to keep him grounded else he’ll shake apart.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Lambert says, getting to his knees and shuffling closer. “Eskel’s not the only one who appreciates your mouth.”

“I know,” Geralt says, unable to help himself. “‘M good at eating cunt too.” Whores may have just been being nice, bolstering his ego, but Yennefer certainly wouldn’t.

Eskel nips him again. “Kiss him to shut him up,” he says.

Lambert laughs but he does.

Geralt’s brain settles further, focused on kissing Lambert. Lambert is different than Eskel, less instinctive and more like a challenge. More teeth and harsh control, different from the way that Eskel and Jaskier will sweep in confidently and claim in. Different too form Yennefer, who kissed him like she was confident that he was already claimed. Lambert kisses like he’s expecting Geralt to try and take back control, and maybe he would, but the alcohol is making it easier to be pliant, and Lambert still tastes and feels familiar, and he’s starting to relax into it.

Eskel bites hard again, deep, mouth open wide to take a chunk of skin in it.

Geralt whines in Lambert’s mouth, letting Lambert kiss him, only able to absentmindedly kiss back. It’s like the spot on his neck is directly connected to his cock, and as Eskel worries at it, tugging, pulling, Geralt feels his cock respond. He’s sure he’s leaking already, making a mess. Eskel rugs on the skin, pulling it taught, so close, just on the edge of breaking it.

Geralt stops breathing, sure that if Eskel does, he will come.

But instead Eskel pulls back and Geralt can’t stop the noise of protest. “Eskel,” he pants.

“Wanna kiss you when you come for me,” Eskel says, setting himself astride Geralt’s thigh, shifting closer to he can rub his own cock against Geralt’s stomach. “Lambert, switch.”

Lambert pulls back, looking excited, waiting for Geralt to tilt his neck again.

Geralt hesitates. He loves Lambert, he does, but he’s not Eskel, or Jaskier, or Yennefer.

Eskel cups his cheek again, smoothing a thumb across his cheekbone.

Geralt shudders. “Right here with you,” Eskel assures him. “I’ll keep him in line.” He reaches out and grabs Lambert by the scruff.

Lambert huffs, but he doesn’t say anything snarky, both of them just calmly staring at Geralt.

“Okay,” Geralt agrees, and he tilts his neck.

Lambert’s on it immediately, scraping his teeth and his stubble, nipping here and there. 

Is so different from Eskel’s deep bruising that it’s almost disorienting, at least until Eskel kisses him, and then everything seems to fit, to meld together into a single sensation. Eskel’s mouth, the familiar taste of him, the way he flicks his tongue. His arousal, twined with Lambert’s and Geralt’s own, the sex heavy on the air and in Geralt’s nose, in his lungs. The way Eskel rolls his hips against him, slicked only with sweat and precome. Lambert’s rough mouth on his neck, bruising, smearing his spit all over it. Geralt reaches out blindly, patting at Lambert’s knee and then working his way up until he can wrap his hand around his cock and let Lambert fuck his fist.

Lambert groans against his neck before he starts sucking again, and yes, that’s what Geralt wants. He wants Eskel and Lambert to feel good, wants to be the one who makes them feel good, helpless to do anything but let them do what they wish to him. Helpless to want anything else.

Eskel’s hips speed up as he builds towards his organs, grunting into Geralt’s mouth as they kiss, messy, open, staring to miss each other’s lips.

“Oh fuck, Geralt so good,” Eskel says.

Geralt whines, and at least he’s breathless enough that the sound isn’t too embarrassing. “Good,” he pants back.

“So good,” Lambert echoes against his neck. His hips have sped up to, rocking faster into Geralt’s fist.

Geralt tightens his fingers, squeezing.

“Oh fuck,” Lamber says, and Geralt knows from the jerk of him that he’s going to come.

“You too,” he tells Eskel before he sticks his tongue in his mouth again.

Eskel groans and snaps his hips.

Geralt can only gasp and listen and kiss Eskel as they both come on him, Lambert first across his chest, Eskel wet and hot against his hip.

“Please,” Geralt says against Eskel’s mouth, his cock throbbing. “Please.”

“Yeah, I’ve got ya,” Eskel says, swallowing Geralt’s groan as he comes, everything going red, his blood rushing in his ears, his world narrowed to his cock, to Eskel’s mouth on his jaw, to Lambert’s on his shoulder, to their hands, stroking, Eskel up his ribs and Lambert up his arm.

Geralt slumps when it’s over, dropping his head onto Eskel’s shoulder. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Eskel warns, his hand coming up to play with the ends of Geralt hair. “You want Vesemir to find you here in the morning all covered in come?”

Geralt huffs against Eskel’s skin.

“Fuck, he’s gonna be mad at us for the smell,” Lambert groans.

“I’ll clean it,” Geralt says. And he will. Tomorrow. After he figures out how to get back to his bed so he can pass out. Maybe he can take Eskel and Lambert with him. It’s hard to think though, with his limbs orgasm loose and his face in Eskel’s neck. Geralt used to hide there, when they were young and everything had been frightening in its intensity. Eskel’s skin is warm, and his smell familiar and rich right now, sweat and pheromones and leather. Jaskier has said that Geralt smells of leather too. Geralt wonders if he has the same leather smell of Eskel.

“Come on, you big lug,” Eskel says, shifting, but holding Geralt close to him. “To bed.”

Geralt grunts a little. It sounds hard, but he knows it must be done.

He lets Eskel lead him away, pressed close together against the chill of the hallways.

Eskel leads them both to Geralts room, where he pushes Geralt on the bed and then crawls in after him.

“Lambert?” Geralt asks.

“Cleaning up our mess,” Eskel says. “He’ll join us when he’s done.”

Geralt hums. It’ll be nice, to have that much warmth in the bed. He tucks his face into Eskel’s throat again, still feeling loose and relaxed.

“You’re still out of it,” Eskel murmurs, combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair. “Want me to bring you back?”

“No,” Geralt says. Being brought back to his aching, broken, twisted self is an idea he can’t stand just yet.

“Okay,” Eskel agrees easily. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Sleep?”   
  
“You can. I’m gonna wait for Lambert.”  
  
Geralt hums again, his thoughts slowing, step by step, to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Kinktober Day 19 prompt: Cockwarming. Late again but what can you do....

Geralt leaves Kaer Morhen early, while snow still clings to the passes. Lambert smirks knowingly when he starts gearing up. “Missing someone?” he asks.

“No,” Geralt lies. The truth is that he can’t stop thinking about it, thinking about inviting Jaskier, thinking about having Jaskier there to push him around with his brothers, about having Jaskier in his bed, about having all three of their mouths on him. It feels ridiculous to already be thinking about next winter, to be getting excited about it, and he doubts that seeing Jaskier in Oxenfurt, surprising him, will take the edge off, but neither will staying here, with Lambert’s looks and pointed questions, and Eskel’s firm “suggestions”. “Can’t stand the sight of your ugly mug any longer,” is what he says to Lambert.

Lambert shoves him. “Tell your bard ‘hi’ from us. And let him know we’ll be waiting.”

Geralt just shoves him back.

* * *

It’s still chilly in Oxenfurt as he arrives. Geralt has never been to Oxenfurt when it’s chilly out, usually only when the warmth of autumn still hangs on, to make sure Jaskier arrives safely, or in the spring, if Jaskier tells him of a contract. But now the water blows frosty air over the town, not cold enough to snow, or for anything to settle, but the chill of winter clearly still hangs in the air.

He dismounts Roach as he enters the city proper, leading her through to the inn, which he knows well. The stableboy smiles at him, clearly recognizing him. “Master Witcher!” he says.

“Geralt,” Geralt corrects. Fancy titles put him on edge, even if he knows it’s supposed to be respectful.

“Master Geralt,” the boy says, and Geralt sighs.

“You’re Jakub, right?” Geralt says. “One of Jaskier’s students.”

The boy nods. “You remembered.” He looks ecstatic about being on a first name basis with a witcher, which means that he’s probably listening too much to Jaskier’s stories.

“Her name is Roach,” Geralt tells him. “Take care of her for me.” He gives the boy three gold coins. He doesn’t know if that’s a lot for an Oxenfurt boy, even one working in the stables to help pay tuition. Probably not, but he always tries to make sure that Roach is well cared for.

“Master Jaskier isn’t inside,” Jakub says. “He’s playing at the Bells tonight. There’s a dance.”

“Thanks,” Geralt tells him.

“I’ll be sure to take good care of your horse!” the boy yells after him.

Geralt huffs, hiding his smile as he heads over to Three Little Bells. Oxenfurt is familiar to him, as many times as Jaskier has taken him around. The first time he had been ecstatic to show Geralt the city, taking by his hand, dragging him around to anything. Geralt hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he’d been to Oxenfurt plenty before for work.

But it’s Jaskier’s city now, and he knows it in the way the people are used to him how they smile as they seem him walk through the streets, even though he’d forgotten to leave his sword with Roach. A couple of the students he recognizes as Jaskier’s from times they’ve visited before, how they’d laughed with Jaskier and asked him questions. They had seemed utterly unafraid of Geralt then, and they seem the same now.

The closer he gets to Three Little Bells the more jovial the atmosphere becomes. Students are in the street, laughing and shouting, trying to dance despite their inebriation.

“Hey, it’s Master Jaskier’s witcher!” one of them shouts. “Are you here to see him?”

Geralt gives them a nod.

Several of the gathered students “ooh”.

“That’s so romantic!” one of them gushes.

Geralt ignores them all and strides into the hall. He sees Jaskier on the stage immediately, in the middle of it all as always, doublet gone, his undershirt undone at the top like usual, his cheeks bright and glowing with sweat and exertion, his bangs falling messily over his face. He’s clearly been playing for a while, and more than likely has had several drinks, and the room is as jubilant as he is, dancers mingling, the other musicians on stage feeding off Jaskier’s energy.

Geralt can’t stop his smile, leaning against one of the posts.

“Ah, sorry,” one of the girls says when she bumps into him.

Geralt shakes his head.

“Oh!” she says when she straightens up and gets a look at him. “You’re the witcher! Master Jaskier’s witcher.”

Geralt doesn’t try to stop the soft puff of laughter. “So I’ve been told.”

“Would you like a beer?” she asks. “An apology.”

Geralt shakes his head. “I’m just waiting for Jaskier.”

“I’ll get him,” the girl assures him, before scampering off.

There’s no point in calling after her, discouraging her, because she’s already pushing off back into the crowd, and likely not listening.

Geralt is listening though, so he hears when she shouts, “Master Jaskier!” even with all the other noise.

Jaskier look over at her and winks, and then follows her pointing finger to Geralt.

Their eyes lock and Geralt gives Jaskier a small smile, inclining his head.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says, mid song.

Geralt rolls his eyes, but Jaskier is already clambering off the stage and making his way over to him. The rest of the band has picked up the slack, still playing, and the crowd’s mood stays the same, even though more than several heads are watching Jaskier as he comes to stand close to Geralt. There’s several more whispers of “romantic” and “so sweet” that Geralt tries to ignore.

“You’re here early!” Jaskier says. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you for another month!”

Geralt shrugs, feeling the light stirrings of embarrassment. “I am here,” he says.

Jaskier beams at him. “Hi,” he says, breathless, eyes glittering. The way he’s standing, the way his head is tilted, Geralt can tell that he wants to kiss him, and is only holding himself back because Geralt doesn’t usually approve of such public displays.

But the mood is so light, and accepting, and Geralt is pleased to have Jaskier so close to him, so happy to see him, that he closes the gap and kisses him.

Jaskier makes a happy, surprised sound into the kiss before he kisses back, clearly happy and excited. There’s cheers and whoops from the students around them, but Jaskier’s mouth is sweet and familiar.

When they pull back from each other, Jaskier’s face can’t barely contain his grin. “That was nice,” he says.

“Hmm, was it?”

“Jerk,” Jaskier says, but he’s still grinning. “What are you doing here? There’s not a monster about to destroy the university is there?”

“No monster,” Geralt assures him.

“Well that’s good,” Jaskier says. Then his grin becomes a smirk. “Because in that case I think we should go up to my apartment.” The look on his face leaves no room of alternate implications, and neither do the hands settling on Geralt’s waist, nor the thumbs dipping into his waistband.

“Yes,” Geralt agrees.

Jaskier’s grin becomes sharp and satisfied, more like how he looks when they’re in bed and he’s about to get exactly what he wants from Geralt. “Then come, witcher,” he says, taking Geralt’s hand and leading him out.

Geralt follows him out of the crowed inn and into the cool night air.

“Are you cold?” Geralt asks, a breeze reminding him that Jaskier has only a thin shirt on, and that the sweat on his skin must be cooling him further.

“It’s not a far walk,” Jaskier assures him, looking back over his shoulder, swinging their hands a little. “I’ll be fine. But if you want to come a little closer and keep me warm I won’t stop you.”

Geralt rolls his eyes but he still steps closer, off to the side, just to bit, to block Jaskier from the wind.

“So chivalrous,” Jaskier says, bumping their hips on purpose.

Geralt doesn’t say anything, but he does drop Jaskier’s hand to his hip and pull him in. “Close enough?” he asks.

“Oh, not nearly, my dear witcher,” Jaskier says, winking. “I don’t think I’ll be satisfied until we’re much closer.”

Geralt feels a rumble building in his chest as his dick twitches in his pants. Jaskier is still flushed against his side, sweaty and disheveled, and it brings ideas to mind, memories, things he already wants. If Oxenfurt were a different city, a busier one, one that didn’t know them, he’d probably not even wait for lodging, would pull Jaskier into an alley to take the edge off. But there’s still people around, students probably, who would notice. So he simply rubs his thumb over Jaskier’s hip, feeling his skin through the thin shirt. This close he can smell Jaskier, smell his sweat and his scent and his lust. It fuels Geralt’s own arousal, simmering under his skin, making him warm, making his cock fill in his pants.

Jaskier doesn’t have a witcher’s sense of smell, but Geralt can tell he notices anyways, by the glint of his teeth in the moonlight when he grins, by the way his own scent grows sharper in response, the two of them feeding off of each other.

“It’s here,” Jaskier says, pulling Geralt off the street and into a building. He was right, it was a short walk, but not short enough.

The ground floor of the building is nice and simple, clearly a lobby of some sort.

“I’m upstairs,” Jaskier says, pulling Jaskier to the stairs and up them, his fingers tapping against the soft skin of Geralt’s wrist.

Geralt simply hums. He hopes that Jaskier isn’t too far down the hall, because his excitement is already difficult enough to ignore.

Then Jaskier is stopping and unlocking a door, and Geralt gives up on his self-control, wrapping his hands around Jaskier’s hips, grinding against his ass, uncaring that they’re still in the hallway.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, tipping his neck back.

Geralt buries his face in it, breathing in deeply, inhaling Jaskier like he’s been desperate to for months.

“You’re _distracting_ ,” Jaskier accuses, fumbling the keys a few times before he gets the door open.

Geralt hums, unconcerned by it. He’s much more interested in the skin beneath his mouth, the salt of Jaskier’s sweat, the musk of his arousal.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier hisses, but then he has the door open and Geralt uses his hips to steer him inside, turning them around so he can use Jaskier’s back to slam the door shut as he drops to his knees, needing to bury his face in between Jaskier’s legs. He’s already craving the deepness of the scent there, how dark it is, stronger than anywhere else on Jaskier’s body, trapped by his thick curls.

“Oh, oh,” Jaskier gasps, already winding his fingers into Geralt’s hair, as Geralt unties the laces on the front of his breeches.

“So eager,” Jaskier says, his voice wondering as Geralt finally pulls him out of his pants and shoves them down to pool at his ankles.

Jaskier cock is swelling in his hand, red and plump.

Geralt’s mouth waters at the sight of it. He knows the weight of Jaskier’s cock on his tongue, knows the taste of him, and just having it out is making his body respond.

“You’re eager,” Geralt rumbles, before he sticks Jaskier’s cock into his mouth.

They both groan, and Jaskier’s hands tighten in Geralt’s hair. Geralt takes him far enough that he fills full, that he can feel it in his jaw, but not too far, keeping Jaskier’s cock on his tongue, feeling the weight of it, tasting the sweat from being in Jaskier’s pants all day, tasting the proof of Jaskier’s arousal wash across his tongue as his cock starts leaking.

“F _uck_ ,” Jaskier says, drawing the word out. He pulls of Geralt’s hair, hard, deliberate.

It makes Geralt goes loose, the tension seeping out of his shoulders, his spine, his neck. His eyes flutter, wanting to close, but Geralt wants to keep watching, wants to see Jaskier’s face flush, see him bite and lick at his own lips, see his eyes grow dark with heat.

Geralt raises his hands, drawing them up Jaskier’s leg, against the grain of his hair, thick here as it is every else on Jaskier’s body, feeling it scratch against his palms. He loves the way Jaskier’s body hair feels against his palms, his cheeks, his lips. Most of the women Geralt has been with have all been smooth, for whores of course it’s their profession to be a fantasy, and as for Yennefer, Geralt thinks it’s a matter of personal preference. And Jaskier is just…hairier than Eskel or Lambert, and even Geralt himself. Geralt has wondered before if it’s a Jaskier thing, or a witcher thing.

He draws this hands all the way up Jaskier’s legs, fitting his hands around Jaskier’s hips again, rubbing his thumbs along the creases between the tops of his legs and his crotch.

He suckles at the top of Jaskier’s cock, moving slightly up and down, focusing on just the head, tonguing under it, before taking more into his mouth until he feels his jaw stretch and then back, never letting Jaskier get enough of either sensation, wanting to taste all of him.

“So fucking sexy, Geralt,” Jaskier says, one hand coming to the side of his mouth to thumb at Geralt’s lips. “Can you take more? Do you want more?”

Geralt moans around Jaskier’s cock, opening his jaw further, because he does, he wants more from Jaskier, always.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” Jaskier says, winding his hand back into Geralt’s hair before he starts thrusting his hips. He doesn’t go too deep at first, rocking forward until his cock nudges at the back of Geralt’s throat and then pulling back.

Geralt groans, gripping hard at Jaskier’s hips. Everything else falls away and narrows; the sound of the people outside on the street, the noises from the other apartments, the only thing that matter is Jaskier, warm and solid against Geralt’s hands, in his mouth.

“So sweet,” Jaskier gasps, babbling he always does. “I’m obsessed with your mouth, Geralt, Gods, you love this, don’t you? I love giving it to you, love making you happy.”

Geralt whines a little, because that’s not quite right, it’s him making Jaskier happy, what he wants doesn’t matter except for how it aligns with Jaskier’s wants. He wants Jaskier’s cock in his mouth, and Jaskier wants a mouth around his cock.

“Shh, I know, I’ve got you,” Jaskier continues, before he sinks himself into Geralt’s throat.

Geralt’s gag reflex flutters at first, instinctive, before he consciously overrides it, opening his throat for Jaskier’s cock. He makes a breathless noise around it, reveling in the press of Jaskier. Of his cock, and his hands pulling at his hair, grounding.

“Gorgeous, just perfect, always so good to me, Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. “Oh, fuck.” He snaps his hips a few times and Geralt makes a muffled noise against his cock in response, because that means that Jaskier likes it, that he’s getting close, that Geralt is doing good.

“Shit,” Jaskier hisses, pulling out of Geralt’s throat.

Geralt whines at that, instinctively chasing his cock, sinking down onto it until his nose is in Jaskier’s curls and he can’t breathe, overwhelmed with Jaskier, with the scent of him, the taste, the warmth.

“Geralt, oh, fuck, it’s gonna be too short. I’m gonna, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna come, want to do more, unh!”

Geralt starts sucking at that, flicking his tongue, because he wants it, wants to taste Jaskier, is greedy for it, to know that it’s been as good for Jaskier as it’s been for him.

Jaskier pants, open mouthed, and then he’s grabbing at Geralt’s hair, yanking him up and down his cock, and it’s harsh and painful and so, so good. Then he holds Geralt in place at the head of his cock as he comes, flooding Geralt’s mouth.

They both groan through Jaskier’s orgasm, until he’s soft in Geralt’s mouth.

Geralt keeps sucking, trying to be gentle, knowing that Jaskier is probably oversensitive but not wanting to let him go yet.

Eventually Jaskier makes a soft noise and gentles his hands in Geralt’s hair, running his fingers through it instead. “Gods,” he says. He pulls himself out of Geralt’s mouth and slides down the door until he too is on the floor. He leans forward and kisses Geralt, soft and sweet.

Geralt makes a soft noise into it and kisses back, flicking his tongue at Jaskier’s mouth.

“Shit, Geralt, I was planning to fuck you,” Jaskier laughs against his cheek, mouthing over Geralt’s cheekbone.

“You still can,” Geralt says, his voice raspy and low, aroused and used.

Jaskier presses his teeth gently, so gently, against the thin skin there. “Oh, darling, I would be delighted.” He leans into Geralt’s space, rubbing his palm over Geralt’s cock, straining against his pants.

Geralt moans, his mouth falling open again, and Jaskier shifts even closer, grinding the heel of his palm against Geralt’s clothed cock. “Are you wet under there? I bet you are. You leak so much when you’re hot like this.”

“Stop,” Geralt grunts, feeling his body flush with humiliation.

“What? It’s true,” Jaskier says. Then, leaning in even closer, so he can brush Geralt’s ear with his lips, he whispers, “I like it. Turns me on.” He nips a little at the shell of Geralt’s ear, his breath hot.

Geralt shivers.

Jaskier knows by now how to undo the buttons on Geralt’s pants, even without looking, even one handed, his other hand used to balance.

With the way Geralt is kneeling there’s not much room to get his pants and smallclothes down very far, but Jaskier gets them down far enough to take his cock out. Jaskier wraps his fingers around it almost immediately, giving Geralt a long, slow jerk.

Geralt groans.

“Mm, so hard already,” Jaskier says, voice still low, right next to Geralt’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. He thumbs over the exposed head of Geralt’s cock, already poking out of his foreskin. Like Jaskier had predicted he’s already wet, has already been leaking in his smallclothes, leaving his cock hot and sticky.

Geralt grunts as Jaskier digs his nail into the slit.

Jaskier hums happily into his ear. “Get on the bed, big guy,” he says, smacking him on the inner thigh.

Geralt goes, trying very hard not to trip over his own feet and shame himself. He makes it to the bed without falling on his face or get caught on his pants. He gets them shoved down to his ankles when he stands, able to kick them of when he steps.

Jaskier follows him, stepping out of his own pants, and stripping his shirt off.

Geralt watches him from his spot on the bed, looking over his shoulder as Jaskier approaches.

Jaskier grins at him. “Look at you,” he says. “Ass up for me. You know how good you look, don’t you?”

Geralt ducks his head down, hiding it between his arms, feeling hot and embarrassed. He does know how he looks, scarred and twisted, mutated and monstrous. He’d only taken this position because Jaskier had said that he wanted to fuck him, he’d only wanted to make it easy for him, hadn’t been trying to show off.

Jaskier is there though, petting up his flank, massaging at his ass. “Didn’t mean to embarrass you, beautiful,” he says, petting up Geralt’s back, trailing his hands through the ends of Geralt’s hair over his shoulder.

Geralt grunts. “Not,” he says.

“What?” Jaskier says, still petting. “Not beautiful or not embarrassed?”

“Witcher’s aren’t,” Geralt mutters.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jaskier says, sounding so sure and confident. “You’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Surely you’ve seen a mirror at some point in your years.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Geralt insists. Jaskier always gets like this when they have sex, effusive praise and compliments. It’s…sweet, Geralt supposes and probably something that Jaskier’s other partners expected from him. But no matter how often Geralt tells him that he doesn’t need platitudes, Jaskier still says them, says nice things, tells Geralt how good he is, how beautiful. Jaskier always gets a sad look on his face too, like it upsets him that Geralt knows that he’s an ugly mutant.

Jaskier kneels behind Geralt on the bed, draping himself over his back, kissing along his shoulders. “Stop thinking,” he says.

“Then get on with it,” Geralt growls. “Fuck me.”

“What if I want to take my time with you?” Jaskier asks. “Touch every inch of your glorious body, lick it, taste you everywhere.”

“Then do that,” Geralt says.

“Demanding,” Jaskier chides. “Is that really what you want? My cock in your ass and nothing else, not my mouth on you, or my hands? Aren’t I good with them?”

“You know you are,” Geralt says. Because Jaskier has always been assured of his ability in the bedroom, a confident lover.

“But _you_ don’t like it?” Jaskier pushes.

Geralt grunts. “Didn’t say that,” he points out.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier murmurs. “I know you don’t like speaking of these things. I know I can be pushy.”

“It’s okay,” Geralt mumbles, feeling awkward. He hadn’t meant to make Jaskier feel sorry for being himself. Jaskier is easily the most talkative lover Geralt has ever had. Whores usually try generic dirty talk, but drop it quickly once Geralt is uninterested in it. Eskel and Lambert largely stick to grunts and growls, expletives and short sentences. Yennefer doesn’t speak much either, though she’s vocal in her own way.

Jaskier pushes Geralt’s hair off his neck so he can lay a gentle kiss on it. “I do mean everything I say,” he says into Geralt’s skin. “None of it is empty flattery, I assure you.”

“I know,” Geralt sighs. That’s what makes it so confusing, so difficult to hear.

Jaskier kisses him again. “Bedstand to your right,” he murmurs. “Should be a bottle in there.” He keeps up on Geralt’s neck, kissing and sucking, even though he knows that Geralt heals too quickly for him to leave marks.

Geralt reaches out to the side table Jaskier had mentioned. There’s a few things cluttering the table part of it, but the drawer is largely empty, except for the bottle and a notebook. Geralt chuckles a little. It’s very Jaskier. “Only the essentials?”

“Learned that from you,” Jaskier says. He nips a little at Geralt’s neck.

Geralt hands him the lube. He notes that the bottle is almost full, which is unusual for Jaskier. Perhaps it’s a new bottle.

Jaskier continues to mouth at Geralt’s neck and shoulders, even as Geralt can hear the lube open, can smell the supposedly neutral scent of the oil. Jaskier’s first finger goes in easily and Geralt shoves back against it.

“Jaskier,” he growls.

Jaskier tuts into Geralt’s ear but then he ruins it by laughing. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you can take more, big witcher, can handle more than a few of a bard’s fingers at a time.”

Geralt sighs at it. At a certain point he finds that he has to give over to Jaskier. He can be awfully stubborn, as Geralt well knows.

“That it, sweetheart, just relax,” Jaskier says, rubbing his spare hand up and down Geralt’s spine as he slips another finger into Geralt’s ass.

Geralt lets his head hang down and breaths through it. He knows by now that it’s useless to try and egg Jaskier on, to try and rush him. Jaskier likes to take his time in bed. He fucks Geralt slowly with his two fingers, spreading them, stretching Geralt out, but all the while avoiding his prostate.

Geralt huffs but simply rocks with Jaskier’s fingers, hoping that his patience will pay off.

“So good for me, Geralt,” Jaskier purrs, kissing the top of his spine.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles again, letting his voice go deep and gravelly the way Jaskier likes.

Jaskier’s free hand drifts all the way down to his ass, squeezing the muscle of it as he slides another finger in.

Geralt groans. Jaskier’s noises seem to encourage him to be vocal himself, even though the idea of anyone else hearing him makes embarrassment prickle in the back of his brain.

Jaskier kisses the base of Geralt’s spine as he pulls his fingers out. “So good for me, Geralt,” he says.

Geralt can smell the lube again, and Jaskier’s arousal, starting to be tinged with the smell of his precome.

Jaskier’s first side inside him is smooth and easy.

“Fuck,” Jaskier groans. “Oh, Geralt, that’s so nice. You feel so _good_ , oh fuck.”

“Mm,” Geralt says, rocking back into Jaskier. He feels good too, thick and long in Geralt’s ass, reaching deep. It doesn’t hurt at all, not with all the preparation and how relaxed Geralt is from sucking Jaskier’s cock earlier.

“Ah, oh fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier groans. He wraps his hands around Geralt’s hips and fucks into him, deep and slow and even. He grunts whenever his hips hit Geralt’s and Geralt moans to encourage him. One of Jaskier’s hands comes forward to make a tight fist for Geralt to fuck into and Geralt moans, gasps, encourages, “Harder.”

Jaskier obeys, losing himself to the rhythm, and when he says, “Oh, Geralt, my love, I’m close,” and squeezes the tip of Geralt’s cock Geralt is coming, long and slow, leaving him weak and limp.

Jaskier is panting against the back of his neck, little “uhns” as he fucks the last of his orgasm out into Geralt. The limp drape of his body when he’s done is a heavy warmth across Geralt’s back. Geralt wants him to stay like that, he would happy to have Jaskier’s weight against him for the rest of the life.

Unfortunately, Jaskier has to pull out, with a groan and a kiss to the base of Geralt’s neck again.

Geralt groans at the emptiness, the loss when Jaskier pulls away completely. He lays down on Jaskier’s bed, inhaling the scent of him on the sheets. Eventually Jaskier comes back with a cloth that he uses to wipe between Geralt’s ass. It’s sweet, and gentle, and nothing Geralt has ever experienced before.

“Hey,” he says, settling himself down next to Geralt, reclining against his pillows. “That was a nice surprise.”

Geralt chuckles and shifts around so his head is on Jaskier’s waist.

“What made you come early?” Jaskier says.

Geralt shrugs. “The pass allowed for it,” he says.

“Did it now?” Jaskier says, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair.

Geralt hums in affirmation, shifting downward a bit so he can nuzzle at Jaskier’s slightly damp pubic hair.

“Oh,” Jaskier says gently.

“Sensitive?”

“Not too no,” Jaskier says. “It’s nice.”

Geralt shifts again, so his head is pillowed on Jaskier’s thigh and he can gently suckle his cock into his mouth.

“Mm,” Jaskier says. “That _is_ nice.”

It is. Geralt hums a bit in agreement again, but keeps it light. But there’s no pressure for Geralt to talk with his mouth full of cock, which is one of the things he likes about it. He likes this, Jaskier’s taste strong in his mouth, just a hint of the soap and water he’d used to clean himself, his hands in Geralt’s hair, his pulse strong where it beats in his thigh under Geralt’s ear.

Jaskier, bad at keeping quiet, hums to himself, tunes that Geralt doesn’t recognize, and he tries to remember them so he can ask Jaskier about them later.

“I’m glad you came,” Jaskier says later, slow with approaching sleep.

Geralt pets at the hair on the opposite thigh as Jaskier’s breathing and heartrate slow to that of sleep. He stays where he is, mouth gentle around Jaskier’s cock, thinking of greeting Jaskier in the morning with something more deliberate. But Jaskier soft in his mouth, and sleepy around him, there’s not much more Geralt could ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> This does have a follow-up chapter for another prompt!


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